


Boyfriend For Hire

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Holiday, Kara is Bobbi's little sister and Grant is the asshole fiancé, Thanksgiving, based on a craigslist post that circulates tumblr all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobbi Morse is sick and tired of her family's criticism at every holiday. Her friend Jemma has a solution: a Craigslist post from a convicted felon looking for a hot meal on Thanksgiving in exchange for his services. </p><p>This is the story of how she uses a stranger to terrorize her family (and maybe gets a real date in the process). </p><p>A Thanksgiving Huntingbird fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boyfriend For Hire

Bobbi stares at the Craigslist post that Jemma had sent her. Her best friend and her boyfriend aren’t _technically_ American, even though they’ve both gotten their citizenship. She’d begged them to come with her to her horribly uncomfortable family Thanksgiving, but they’d declined in favor of their own tradition: going to the movie theater all day long.

 

To make up for it, Jemma had emailed her a link with the subject line “Solution to Your Problem.”

 

**Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad?**

**I’m an uneducated convicted felon, 28 years old with a van only a year younger than me that I’ve painted to look like Van Halen’s guitar. I’m a line cook and work nights at a bar. If you’d like a strictly platonic date to come to your Thanksgiving and terrorize your family, look no further.**

**Examples of my services:**

-       **Hit on your female relatives**

-       **Drink excessively**

-       **Insult your mother and/or sister when they passive aggressively harass you about your personal life**

-       **Start an actual physical fight with particularly dickish relatives**

**All at no cost to you, other than a free hot meal.**

 

Whoever made this Craigslist post could be an axe murderer. A bonafide psychopath. A criminal on the lam.

 

Her phone vibrates with a text from her mother.

 

_[Mom]: Your father is getting the good china down from the rafters. He said we might need two plates for you but I assume you’re not bringing anyone?_

Bobbi practically growls at the insinuation. Every family holiday is the same. Her mother makes comments about her perpetual singlehood, her father “jokes” about her biological clock ticking and wanting grandchildren, her sister flaunts her engagement ring and her asshole fiancé, and Bobbi drinks. A lot.

 

Without giving herself too much time to think about it, she replies to the ad.

 

_I know it’s last minute, but if you’re still looking for Thanksgiving plans, I’ve got a family for you to terrorize. My mother is obnoxious but she makes a great meal._

As soon as she presses send on the email, she puts her phone down on the table and walks away from it to finish doing her hair and distract herself from eagerly waiting for a reply.

 

This is what she’s come down to. Despite all of her professional successes, she’s the kind of woman who desperately emails a stranger on Craigslist for a date to her family Thanksgiving. She rolls her eyes at herself.

 

“God damn it,” she huffs. “I should just—I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

Then her phone pings with an email and she races toward it with the curling iron still wound into her hair. Escaping with only a slight burn to her neck, she grabs it and reads the reply.

 

_Surprisingly enough, you’re the only one to take me up on my offer. Give me a time and place and I’ll be there. How does ripped jeans and a t-shirt that exposes tattoos sound? Sufficiently horrifying for your family?_

 

Attached is a picture of what she assumes (and hopes) is him. Much to her surprise, he’s actually really attractive, in a bad-boy kind of way.

Bobbi grins at it and tells him to meet her in the parking lot of the grocery store down the road in an hour. While she may be desperate, she’s not stupid. Plus, they really should take his van, if it’s as horrifyingly awful as he makes it sound. Parking it in front of her parents’ perfect Stepford Wife house is an opportunity she can’t resist.

 

She finishes getting ready, puts the foil over her freshly baked pumpkin pie, and double-checks her outfit. Despite her best efforts, her sister will certainly find something to criticize about her olive green moto pants and cream colored sweater. She’s not sure how tall this guy is and she opts for brown high-heeled boots—her father will just _die_ if her ragamuffin fake boyfriend is shorter than her.

 

When she pulls into the parking lot, she immediately spots the van. It is, indeed, painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar and looks only a few miles from completely falling apart. The man from the photo leans against the side of it, cigarette dangling from his lips. His jeans are more holes than denim, and she can see tattoos winding up his arms.

 

Perfect.

 

She parks her car next to his and holds out her hand the way she does at board meetings.

 

“Bobbi Morse, nice to meet you.”

 

His eyebrows raise and he stares down at her hand before slowly looking her up and down.

 

“Wow,” he says approvingly, stomping out his cigarette with his boot. His accent surprises her, and she’s pleased to find that he’s a bit shorter than her with her heels on. “Would’ve though a woman as pretty as you could get her own date.”

 

She huffs, stuffing her hand in her back pocket. “I work a lot.”

 

He nods in understanding. “So, your car or mine?”

 

“Yours,” Bobbi says. “Definitely yours. Having that parked out front will just be…perfect.”

 

“Name’s Hunter, by the way.”

 

“Last name?”

 

“Hunter is my last name,” he clarifies. “You’ve gotta really jiggle the handle to get that door open, love.”

 

He demonstrates, rocking the van back and forth with the force of his pulls. Bobbi does her best to keep her eyes from his biceps while he does so. Once he manages to yank the door open, Bobbi climbs inside. It smells like stale cigarette smoke and beer, causing her to wrinkle her nose.

 

“Sure you don’t want to take your car, princess?”

 

She scoffs. “I’m no princess. I work in intelligence for the police department.”

 

His eyes blow wide open. “Oi! You’re a cop?!”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m a cop. And you’re a convicted felon but you’re obviously out of prison so I’m just going to assume, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, that you’ve been properly reformed by the American justice system.”

 

He snorts derisively and starts the van with a dull roar. “Whatever you’ve gotta believe.”

 

She gives him directions to her parents’ house and then he begins with the questions.

 

“So, how did we meet?” he asks. Her brow furrows and he clarifies further. “We’re going as a couple, yeah? We need a story. A good alibi is Criminal 101.”

 

“Right,” Bobbi says firmly. “Okay, how about—you were a perp that I brought in and I fell for you.”

 

Hunter laughs. “Perfect. What was I arrested for?”

 

Bobbi smirks. “Soliciting a prostitute.”

 

His jaw drops and he looks impressed. “You _really_ want to piss off your parents!”

 

“At Easter, my perfect little sister and her douchebag fiancé recommended that I move to a new apartment. One where I can have cats.”

 

“Ouch,” Hunter winces. “Right then. How long have we been dating?”

 

“Hmm, a few months?”

 

“How handsy are we willing to be?” Hunter immediately follows up. She shifts in her seat.

 

“Well, if we want to truly make them uncomfortable, we’ll need to sell it by being touchy feely. If you’re alright with it, we it might be good for us to…I don’t know, to kiss and stuff,” she says, cheeks heating. He chuckles.

 

“I’m perfectly alright with that. Can’t get much better than a free meal and a hot blonde.”

 

She blushes further and smacks at his arm. “Stop it with the flirting, would you?”

 

“I can’t help it!” he protests. “Besides, I’m your boyfriend, _sweetheart.”_

“Okay, okay, you’re right.”

 

“What’s the douchebag like?” Hunter asks.

 

“Oh my God, he’s the _worst,”_ Bobbi rants. “His name is Grant Ward, and he’s some high society asshole. His dad’s a U.S. Senator and he wants to go into politics.”

 

Hunter screws up his face. “Good, then I’m probably not going to be the only one in the room who’s solicited a prostitute.”

 

Bobbi throws her head back in a cackle. “I honestly don’t get what Kara sees in him. He kinda bosses her around, it’s…weird. You’ll see when we get there.”

 

It’s only a few more minutes until they do, and Bobbi stops him from getting out of his car.

 

“They’ll be able to tell if we’ve never kissed before,” she explains as quickly as she possibly can. Her nerves get the better of her and she’ll be surprised if he hears her properly at all, but then he lunges forward and captures her lips with his, one hand going into her hair.

 

He tastes a little bit like Marlbaros, which isn’t exactly the most romantic thing in the world, but he certainly knows how to kiss. Bobbi returns it with enthusiasm and pulls away with eyes still shut.

 

“Good. Right. We got this.”

 

Hunter, for his part, looks equally gobsmacked. “We may have to do that a lot.”

 

He means it to sound like a warning, but it comes out entirely too hopeful for that. Bobbi slowly opens her eyes and smiles at him.

 

“Perfectly fine with me. Let’s go, _honey pie.”_

He groans exaggeratedly. “Honey pie? You can do better than that, Bobbi.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” she teases. “Sweet face? Sugar lips?”

 

Hunter rolls his eyes and grabs her hand not clutching at her pie. “Ready for this?”

 

“Ready,” Bobbi confirms, sweeping into the house. “Mom, Dad! I’m here!”

 

“Barbara!” her mother greets happily, sweeping in from the kitchen. She truly looks the part of Stepford Wife, blonde hair perfectly coiffed with an autumn-themed apron tied around her shiny brown dress. She freezes, eyes wide as she takes in the man at her daughter’s side.

 

“Barbara?” Hunter mumbles into her ear. It sends a bit of a shiver down her spine which she does her best to ignore.

 

She shushes him harshly and beams at her mother. “I brought my boyfriend with me. Sorry I didn’t reply to your text earlier. We were—busy.”

 

She sees Hunter nearly choke on a laugh and steps lightly on his toe as she hugs her mom. She does a quick introduction and then drags him deeper into the house.

 

Kara and the Douche sip wine at the counter top, snacking on shrimp cocktail. Her sister nearly spills all over herself as her eyes fall on Hunter.

 

“Bobbi!” Kara exclaims a bit too loudly. “Who is—what did you—“

 

“Looks like Bobbi’s finally got a boyfriend,” Grant smirks. He holds out a hand to Hunter. “Grant Ward, nice to meet you.”

 

“Lance Hunter. You look a little familiar.”

 

“My family is in the paper a lot,” Ward humble-brags. Bobbi bites her lip as she accepts a glass of wine from her mom, waiting to see where Hunter is going with it.

 

“No, no, I don’t think it’s that,” Hunter hums, rocking back and forth on his heels. “D’you ever go to that marijuana dispensary on 24th? I’m a budtender there.”

 

Her mother begins coughing loudly as Kara’s face morphs into outrage. Ward blinks several times before indignantly responding.

 

“Absolutely not,” he denies.

 

“Right, right. I know! I’ve seen you at Juicy Lucy’s!” Hunter exclaims, snapping his fingers as he points.

 

“Juicy Lucy’s?” Bobbi’s mom asks slowly.

 

“Yeah, it’s this great strip club downtown. Half-off beers on Tuesdays.”

 

Ward splutters angrily for a moment. “You have definitely _not_ seen me there.”

 

Hunter winks in exaggeration. “Right, of course not.”

 

Ward tries to defend himself further, but gets interrupted by Bobbi’s father. “Did my baby girl actually bring a suitor to our home?”

 

Bobbi laughs and lets her dad sweep her into a hug. “Hi Daddy. This is Hunter, my boyfriend.”

 

Her father blanches as his eyes are drawn immediately to the tattoos all over his arms.

 

“And how long has this been going on?” he asks gruffly, squeezing Hunter’s hand with alarming strength. She watches his face contort in pain and wraps her arms around his waist.

 

“Three months now. It’s actually a great story of how we met,” she giggles, slipping into her role of doting girlfriend. “We were investigating a prostitution ring—“

 

“Oooh,” Bobbi’s mother interrupts. “He’s undercover! That’s why he’s so dirty.”

 

Bobbi has to bury her face further into Hunter’s neck to stop herself from bursting into laughter.

 

“I’m no bloody cop!” Hunter denies angrily. “Can’t believe I’m even dating one, to be quite honest.”

 

“I brought him in for soliciting a prostitute,” Bobbi coos. “And then we got to actually _talking,_ and I realized that he was more than just your average John. I let him take me out and I just fell head over heels.”

 

“And I knew she was the one as soon as she agreed to street meat as a first date,” Hunter beams, kissing her forehead loudly. Her father stiffens.

 

“Street meat?”

 

“Y’know, those carts on the street where the blokes sell sketchy hot dogs? Street meat!” Hunter explains cheerily. “Have you got any beer, or just wine?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Morse says after a moment of silence. She brings him one from the fridge with a stiff, plastic smile on her face.

 

He pops it open and immediately begins chugging, stopping to belch loudly. Against her better judgment, Bobbi pulls him into a long kiss immediately afterward, doing her best to school her face into a less disgusted expression when she pulls back. Despite his fantastic skill, the taste of beer burp is probably the least sexy thing that has ever happened to her. And that includes the time a man sneezed on her face during sex.

 

When she pulls back, Hunter smacks her ass and then kisses her cheek so that he can get close enough to her ear. “Sorry. Too far?”

 

She shakes her head subtly and holds him a little closer. Kara and Grant are staring at her in blatant disdain and her parents have a heated, whispered conversation nearby.

 

“I’m going to show him to my bedroom,” Bobbi chirps. “I want him to…see all my trophies.”

 

She lets the insinuation hang in the air as she drags him up the stairs with a loud, completely fake giggle. She slams the door to her periwinkle bedroom loudly and collapses onto her bed with a pleased laugh.

 

“You’re _so_ good at this,” she sighs happily. “They’re horrified.”

 

“That’s what I do best,” he grins. “Glad to help. Any other advice?”

 

“Maybe hit on my sister,” Bobbi suggests, bouncing enthusiastically on the mattress. The squeaking of the bed gives him an idea.

 

“I’ll do that when we head back down. But first, I’ve got an idea. How do you feel about a loud fake quickie?”

 

Bobbi’s jaw drops for a moment and then breaks into a huge smile. “Sounds good to me.”

 

They both take off their shoes and hop onto the bed, enthusiastically jumping.

 

“ _Oooh, Hunter!”_

_“Bob! Bobbi! Just like that!”_

_“Yes! Yes!”_

Hunter slaps the wall a few times. _“Harder, baby!”_

They continue on this way for several minutes until Bobbi gives him a thumbs-up just as she releases a loud, pornographic scream. They collapse back onto the mattress, stuffing their faces into the pillows to muffle the sound of their raucous laughter.

 

Bobbi ruffles her hair into a mess before they head down, and Hunter makes sure to leave the button of his jeans undone as they shove their feet back into their shoes. They hold hands as they come back downstairs, and every member of her family is beet red as they avoid eye contact.

 

“What did he think of all your trophies, Barbara?” Kara says pointedly.

 

“I was _very_ impressed,” Hunter grins lasciviously. “Your sister is quite the gymnast.”

 

“Bobbi never did gymnastics,” Kara snaps, and then realization dawns on her features. “Oh.”

 

Bobbi shoots him a pleased glance. The further along they get in the day, the easier it is to hold herself back from laughing.

 

Until Hunter sidles up to her sister at the counter, popping a shrimp in his mouth and smirking at her. “You may be even prettier than your sister,” he flirts. “I wonder if you can bend backward like her, too.”

 

Kara’s eyes are wide as saucers as his fingers dance on her forearm.

 

“We’ve got an open relationship,” he tells her. “If you’re ever looking for something a bit less…vanilla, you know who to call.”   


With a haughty look in Ward’s direction, he opens another beer and chugs. Bobbi sits him down in a chair and climbs into his lap, running her hands through his hair and giving him her best moony eyes.

 

This is going even better than expected.

 

By the end of dinner, he’s insulted her mother’s dress, made an unflattering comment about Kara’s weight, interrupted her father’s lengthy pre-dinner prayer, and nearly had a physical altercation with Ward. Bobbi chalks up the entire evening as a great success.

 

She’s pretty sure that her family will be _thrilled_ if she shows up to the next holiday meal alone.

 

They say their goodbyes and Bobbi’s parents catch a glimpse of Hunter’s van when they walk them out. The matching expressions on their faces are the icing on the cake for Bobbi. She impulsively presses him up against the side of the hideous van, slipping her tongue into his mouth sloppily. He makes a noise of surprise but recovers quickly enough to play along. His hands grope at her ass and she waits until the front door of her parents’ house closes loudly to pull away.

 

“Seriously, Hunter, thank you. This was great. It was probably the most fun I’ve had at a family event, like, ever.”

 

He grins at her and pecks her on the mouth reflexively. He freezes afterward and so does she; he quickly busies himself with wrenching his car door open for her. She climbs in and watches him walk to his side.

 

It just felt so comfortable because they’d been acting all day. That’s it, nothing more, nothing less.

 

But then he climbs into the driver’s seat with a nervous little smile that is so _genuine_ and she’s hit with the realization that she’d had so much fun today because of him. For the first time in years, she’d felt comfortable in her own skin in front of her family, and that had been largely because of his hand on her knee or fingers in her hair.

 

They drive back to her car in relative silence, and by the time they get there, Bobbi has made her second impulsive decision of the day.

 

“You know, I actually do really like street meat,” she blurts out when he puts the car in park. His eyes snap to her, eyebrows raised so high that they’re nearly in his hairline.

 

“What?”

 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to getting some street meat with you some time,” she breathes.

 

This might be the weirdest proposition she’s ever given anyone, but he doesn’t seem to mind. A slow, lazy smirk spreads on his face as his eyes light up in the dim street lamp.

 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to taking you.”

 

“Thanks for being the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had,” Bobbi whispers, leaning in close. She presses her lips to his slowly, hesitantly, and even though they’ve kissed north of twenty times today, it feels markedly different. His palms come up to rest on her cheeks and he inhales sharply through his nose as his breath catches.

 

He pulls back first, nuzzling his nose against hers reverently.

 

“I like you, Barbara,” he teases, voice husky. She narrows her eyes at him.

 

“Never call me that again.”

 

“Deal,” he agrees. “But it’s gonna cost you.”

 

She pulls him in for a heated kiss, grinning against his mouth when he groans.

 

Several weeks later, they have _way_ too much fun regaling Jemma and Fitz with the real story of how they met over beers and chips at a pub down the block from her apartment.

 

He’s a felon and she’s a cop, but somehow, they make it work.


End file.
